


“Love is private and primitive and a bit on the funky and frightening side..."

by notjustmom



Series: Tom Robbins Remix [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Morning After, Tom Robbins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: the first morning, or is it afternoon... after





	“Love is private and primitive and a bit on the funky and frightening side..."

"What?" John asked without looking over the top of his paper, knowing Sherlock had questions, but wasn't sure how to ask, or if he really wanted the answers.

"Nothing." He went back to studying John's toes. After an hour he cleared his throat and John lowered his paper. "It's just you seem -"

"Different?"

Sherlock nodded. He picked at a loose thread on his robe for a long moment, then sighed. "Logically, I know you haven't changed. Physically, I mean. You are still you."

"Yes." John nodded at him and studied him in return. "It's a question of perception or perspective, both, perhaps?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and waited. John sighed, dropped the sporting section onto his pile of unread items and moved to kneel in front of his new lover. "Before last night, or early this morning, I should say - you didn't allow yourself to look at me except for brief glances -" Sherlock shrugged, then lowered his eyes again, and a slight flush coloured his cheekbones. "When you thought I didn't know. Because I did the same. I was afraid to - I was afraid you'd see, because you see so much, and you might not - hey, no, look at me, you can look at me all you want." John smiled at him gently, and watched as Sherlock raised his brilliant green eyes to meet his. "I know it feels strange. When you fell asleep last night, I was afraid to close my eyes, for fear that I would miss something important. I mean, I've watched you sleep before, when you were in hospital, those nights you have concussion -" John looked down at his hands and shook his head. "Just in case - but this morning, you had the slightest smile on your face, and I noticed - I noticed the little trail of freckles scattered over your chest - reminded me of constellations, and I wanted to kiss each freckle and give them names, you know, how they name new stars and planets? No, of course you wouldn't know -" He snorted and reached for Sherlock's hands, holding them carefully in his. "And these hands - I finally had a chance to study them, to get to know - you see, we get to learn each other all over again. I thought I knew enough about you, and this morning, I realised how little I really know about you." He slowly got to his feet, and pulled Sherlock up with him. "Do ya mind if we just -"

"Go back to bed and do some catching up?" Sherlock whispered as he raised John's hands to his lips and smiled at him. A smile that made John's heart do a quadruple somersault with a back flip.

"That's new," he murmured into Sherlock's shoulder as he tried to catch his breath.

"Feels strange." Sherlock admitted with a grin. "I hadn't quite realised the muscles it takes to smile. I mean, I must have known -"

"You deleted smiling?" John chuckled, then looked up at him with a fondness that shook Sherlock to his foundation. He felt his stomach churn, butterflies, he supposed, though he couldn't determine precisely which genus, though he suspected Danaus... monarchs perhaps, or could be Papilio... tiger swallowtail - why - focus on John. John.

"I found it unnecessary until I met you, it was taking up space that could be put to better use -"

"Interesting."

"What is?" Sherlock blinked at him, then focused on the way that John's eyes crinkled at him when he grinned, so much to learn - he realised then that he had no idea what day it was, month or year - yes, of course he knew, the data was there, somewhere, but, at the moment it didn't matter in the slightest. All that mattered was that when John smiled at him, in that lopsided way, it scrambled everything, and he didn't care one bit.

"Your eyes, they turn colours when you smile like that -"

"Like what?"

"Like you aren't thinking of anything but me."

"I'm not."

John's face froze and his fingers found their place in his curls, as if they understood that is where they belonged, had always belonged and were finally home after a long trip abroad.

"John -"

"Yeah?"

"If you don't kiss me -"

His words were lost to history, though Billy and Hildegarde spent the next four decades arguing over what his next words would have been, if not for John kissing him soundly and carrying him to bed where they stayed for the next three days with only the occasional tea and loo break.


End file.
